


December 23: check off my Christmas list

by dizzy



Series: farewell and gtfo 2016 daily fic advent [23]
Category: Glee RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 15:18:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8995114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzy/pseuds/dizzy
Summary: prompt: Workplace secret santa(set during glee season 3)





	

“This is inappropriate,” Chris hisses, five seconds after barging into Darren’s set trailer. He slams a bottle of lube down onto the little table Darren’s sat in front of, reading lines. 

There’s a red ribbon tied around the lube - which is, the label advertises, candy cane flavored. Darren’s smirk intensifies. “Sure as hell is, but I’m game if you are. I mean, we have to be on set in like twenty minutes, but I can reign in my manly epic stamina just this once…” 

“Fuck off,” Chris says, then regrets his choice of words. “Oh, shut up. You know what I mean. This was in my set chair, for anyone to see! Just because you drew me in the cast Secret Santa-” 

“You don’t know that,” Darren says, his amused expression unchanging. 

Chris rolls his eyes. “No one else would get me lube.” 

“You sure?” Darren lifts an eyebrow. “Maybe some lucky so-and-so things he has a shot.” 

“Look, I appreciate the - gift. The inappropriate for the workplace gift. And I appreciate the thought behind it. We will definitely use it.” Chris pauses, like he’s thinking about it, then shakes his head. “But please, for the love of god, nothing else like this as a secret santa gift unless you leave it somewhere discreet.” 

“If I see your Secret Santa, I’ll be sure and pass that along,” Darren says. 

Chris just sighs. 

*

“Resting against the windshield of my car is not discreet.” Chris stomps into his house. 

Darren’s already on his couch. He finished shooting three hours earlier than Chris, and Chris gave him a key. He can spot that very key sitting on the coffee table, in the little dish that Chris keeps random odds and ends in.

(He’s actually wondering if it’s too soon to give Darren a key in that permanent way, but for now the subtle little swap overs when Chris finishes later seem to be working fine.) 

“What’s that?” Darren asks, lifting his sleepy head. Apparently he’s been napping. 

Chris holds up the bouquet of red and green penis shaped lollipops. 

Darren’s face brightens, before he schools it into something more neutral. “Do I have competition for your affections? Or your dick?” 

Chris rolls his eyes. “Please. I know you put them there. Anyone could have seen those. It’s unprofessional.” 

“You know of no such thing.” Darren yawns and stretches his arms. “Now come. I demand cuddles.” 

Chris throws the bou’cock’ of flowers onto Darren. “Let me get changed first.” 

*

Chris’s face is flaming red as he puts his lunch tray down - not slamming it, because it’s a catered in meal, and he actually wants to eat it. “This has got to stop.” 

“Cupcakes!” Darren reaches out for one. 

Chris slaps his hand away. “No, they’re mine. They’ve got my name on them. See? Right above the icing design of naked Santa doing the dick spin. That’s my name, right there. “To Chris, from your secret santa.” 

Darren looks far, far too pleased. “Wow, Chris. Your secret santa cares so much.” 

“My secret santa isn’t getting laid for a week after I just had to endure being handed this specially designed cupcake while Jane Lynch and at least three senior citizen extras stood in line behind me.” Chris’s face is still read. “I hate you.” 

“Seriously, if you don’t want it-” 

“I will stab you with this fork,” Chris threatens. 

Darren meekly pulls his hand back. 

*

On Monday, it’s a leather cockring latched around the doorknob to his trailer. 

On Tuesday, it’s a helium balloon that reads Merry XXX-mas and has a very anatomically incorrect reindeer. 

On Wednesday, it’s a handjob in the dark in the utility closet and even though Chris can smell Darren’s cologne and absolutely knows the feel of that hand, it’s still electrifying to not be allowed to look and not be able to see a thing. But, no - the principle stands. _Bad._

On Thursday, it’s a DVD of two men dressed in elf suits doing unspeakable things to each other. 

On Friday, it’s a laminated flipbook of Darren’s topless beach photoshoot, along with sanitizing spray cleaner and a box of tissues. The note reads, _To use with the lube. - SS_

*

Chris, to provide a counterpoint, has drawn Dianna’s name and gets her very reasonable gifts. 

Fine _non-phallic_ chocolate on Monday. 

A scarf patterned with very delicate pale blue flowers on Tuesday. 

A donation to her favorite charity on Wednesday.

Good champagne and a free license to drink it all by herself on Thursday. 

On Friday - a tasteful and well done photo manipulation of her actually crushing Ryan Murphy’s throat under her heel, delivered by courier to her actual house. 

Why can’t, Chris thinks, he have just drawn himself? Then this whole mess would be avoided. 

(But maybe he’s just having a bitter moment, seeing as how as he’s thinking that he’s also trying to shove a rainbow sparkle dildo into overly full his messenger bag without the tip poking out.) 

*

Chris walks into his bedroom on his last day of filming before they wrap for break. 

Darren is sprawled out on the bed, arms draped up and over his head, a red ribbon tied around his waist. 

“Hi,” he says, grinning at Chris. “Your Secret Santa left me for you.” 

Chris covers his face with his hands and says, “I hate you.” 

… then he goes to unwrap his present.


End file.
